We Really Shouldn't Laugh About This (But We Will)
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: A collection of vignettes and one-shots. Is Raid hairspray or Giant Spider killer? Is Galion the butler or Thranduil's personal slave? Does the world where Fandoms come from frighten Legolas more than Mary Sues? Did anyone actually kill Smaug or does he just take tea every afternoon with Bilbo so they can solve the mysteries of Erebor? To Be Revealed. . . [Characters: Everyone!]
1. Raid or Hairspray?

One morning Legolas walked into his father's dressing room to ask him about the daily tally of _Merhína Indil_ deaths. Thranduil was spraying something that appeared to be hairspray in a cloud about his head. Legolas, familiar with this daily practice, began speaking, but when he opened his mouth a ghastly taste from whatever his father was spraying assailed his senses.

"Adar! What are you using?!" He waved his hands above his head, coughing and trying not to step out of the room.

Thranduil whirled majestically. "Oh, Legolas, look at this new hairspray; I found it over there in the corner. It's called "Rad" isn't that so new and up to date?" He layered it over his long blond-white hair as he watched his son.

"Adar, that's not rad, it's called Raid! I put it there so that you could kill the Giant Spiders; it's from the world Fandoms come from!" He began coughing incessantly, bending over to get beneath the fumes.

Thranduil paused, lowering the spraycan. Absently he dropped it, blinking twice. And then, with an uncomfortable noise that sounded suspiciously like a nervous giggle, he strode across his carpets and opened his door. "Galion, draw my bath!" he shouted into the hall. Then, he moved back across the room to another door. He closed it carefully behind himself.

Legolas waited, wondering what had just taken place and if he'd really seen what he thought he'd seen. Then, abruptly, the door opened and Thranduil leaned around it. "That was for lice; never let it be said that your Ada didn't know what he was doing!" He slammed the door loudly in his wake. Legolas blinked.

A muffled scream came from the other side.

"Adar, are you all right?" Legolas moved a step toward the door, wondering if he should stay or leave.

"Oh, yes, fine, completely fine! You may leave now!"

Legolas glanced at the spraycan on the floor. Shrugging dismissively, he walked forward, picked it up, and looked at the instructions. It said nothing about dangers regarding using it as hairspray, except that it should be kept out of the eyes (Ada was very good about keeping hairspray off of anything that wasn't hair) and to wash thoroughly with soap and water after use, because it could be the cause of skin reactions.

"At least he read the warnings, then," the Prince decided, returning the can to the corner and leaving the room.

Outside, Tauriel watched as Galion hurried passed, fluffy white towels and bath soaps in hand. "Must tend to the King besides everything else! Of course, Your Majesty, I'll be happy to draw you a bath! What else shall I do? Prostrate myself at your feet and say that my life is nothing if I am not your slave?" the butler muttered.

She looked up when Legolas exited his father's chambers. "I sense that you didn't speak of what you'd come to converse about?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow.

"No, I instead ended up regaling Adar about the finer points of hairspray."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I own none of this (naturally), but I also don't own the idea for this vignette either; my brother thought it up completely. I'm simply sharing it with all of ya'll. So, tell me what you think and there may be more (if I can get my brother to conspire with me). Eryniel Alasse created the words _Merhína Indil_ for me. They mean "Mary Sue" in Elvish. **

**WH**


	2. THE Frying Pan

They had convened in a pavilion not far from Dale so that riders would not have to go far to find their king; not too close to Erebor so that the elf ruler of Mirkwood wouldn't be disgruntled; and within walking distance of the nearby inn where the wizard was residing until he decided to head back to the Shire and the Old Toby he very much enjoyed.

They had been discussing certain aspects of the Real World, wondering if it would be all right to visit it sometime and slay several _Merhína Indil_ before they arrived for the summer. Gandalf had adamantly refused to lend them the Cube, (the magic sphere the'd received from a strange man in a giant blue box who claimed he was "The Doctor") which would enable them to get to the Real World.

Before that topic turned ugly, Bard changed it, but only after Thranduil leaned back in his chair sipping quietly at his Dorwinion wine, a contemplative look in his clear eyes as he watched Gandalf clean his pipe and begin to refill it.

"The weather is fine this year, don't you think?" Bard asked nonchalantly, stacking some cards. When Bain had accidentally gotten hold of the Cube two years ago (that was before they decided that Gandalf should keep it because he was the most sensible and clear-headed of them all) he had brought back a packet of these small, stiff pieces of paper that he said he'd seen people playing with. Cards was now one of the people of Dale's favorite pastimes. Not to mention Bard's, because he could win almost anything from his playing companions. . . (He read all the directions and had become very good at something called "Poker".)

"Yes, very mild. Which is always disquieting. . . It means some _dear_ Author is going to try to rewrite something about Arda," Gandalf replied, putting his pipe in the corner of his mouth and taking the cards Bard dealt him.

"Some of those Authors don't write as badly as others; I've even been pulled into a few tales that don't involve _Merhína Indil,_ only New Characters," the king replied, looking over the hand of cards he had.

"Yes. . . They do. Now, what are the stakes for this game?" Gandalf looked up and across the table.

"Oh, well, why don't we-"

"No, the Cube is not to be included. And you cannot ask to go to the Shire again. The last time that happened I believed you would never leave. I'm not the _only_ disturber of the peace," the wizard muttered into his beard, moving the cards in his hand so that like numbers were with like.

"How about a frying pan?" Bard smiled, leaning over and reaching into the saddlebags he'd insisted he needed and pulling out a cast iron pan. Gandalf's eyes twinkled merrily at the thought of bringing it to Samwise and having him make some fried potatoes and steak. At the same time as Gandalf turned in his chair to reach of something to bet, Bard and Thranduil stood, nodded, and Thranduil picked up the frying pan.

Thunk! Gandalf fell out of the chair and onto the floor. Quickly, Thranduil dropped the frying pan as if it was searing his palms. "Did I hit him too hard?" he asked, glancing at Bard, who had come to stand near him. The King of Dale leaned down, inspecting the knocked-out wizard. Elves did not know their own strength; well, at least the Elvenking didn't.

"I think you hit him too hard," he affirmed at last, straightening and returning to the Elvenking's side.

Thranduil stared at the downed wizard. "I don't think he'll want to play cards with us again," he decided.

"No, he certainly won't. But there's always Legolas," Bard replied. "Or Thorin."

Thranduil frowned. "No, Legolas does not wish to play cards any longer; I may or may not have turned him off the game." He appeared momentarily thoughtful, before going around to the wizard and looking through the pockets of the grey woolen robe Gandalf was overly fond of wearing.

"Which is it?" Bard's eyes followed Thranduil as he removed the Cube from one of Gandalf's pockets and then straightened.

"I believe it leans more to 'may' than 'may not,'" the elf replied dismissively. "I told him that if he wanted to play with me, we would have to go on that barrel ride he's so fond of taking. Apparently he did not enjoy the thought of his 'elderly' father joining him in a recreation that is "hip and for younger elves." Something he learned from the Real World. . ." Thranduil finished with hardly masked disgust.

"Hmm. . . And we can't invite Thorin because. . . ?" Bard raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand for the Cube, which Thranduil quickly gave him.

The elf looked at the King of Dale as if he'd lost his mind.

"Have you _seen_ how often I lose at cards? Thorin Durinson would not let me forget that; he would create a marker and place it in the center of Dale, and then another in Erebor, for everyone to know of my failure! That, Bard, is why he _cannot_ attend our card games, and why I ensure they are kept very, _very_ quiet."

"I see; that is a good reason not to invite him. How did you know Gandalf wanted a frying pan?" Bard decided now was a good time to change the subject.

"Oh, he mentioned something about the need for a good frying pan for potatoes to Legolas, who in turn reported the information to me; information which I in turn reported to you because I knew it would help in our quest to acquire the Cube so we could go to the Real World and perhaps avoid some of those dreadful _Merhína Indil_ this summer," Thranduil replied with a casual wave of his hand as he peered down at the Cube, which Bard now held.

"I see." Bard didn't really see, but Thranduil did have an amazingly rapid train of thought, and often spoke of things the King of Dale couldn't grasp, so his words must have some sense.

"Now, do you remember how to work the Cube?"

The wizard was forgotten on the floor as the two kings bent their heads over the small white Cube, trying to determine how best to make it open the portal between worlds.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This stems from the tumblr post about the pictures of Bard and Thranduil and how they look like they just knocked Gandalf out with a frying pan., which is also the cover photo for this collection. Also, _"The_ frying pan" will come up in a few other drabble/vignettes in this series. ;) **

**WH**


	3. Servant or Slave?

Thranduil looked at the empty glass he held, wondering where the wine had vanished to while he was studying the charts of the Woodland Halls. The Spring Feasts were soon, and Elrond had decided he would come to escape the assault of the _Merhína Indil_ that attacked every year in droves around this time; why they always believed things started in spring he would never know. He held to the notion that the less he knew about those terrors the better off he would be. But currently Thranduil was not thinking about _Merhína Indil,_ Lord Elrond, Giant Spiders, or the Spring Feasts; he was largely concerned with his lack of beverage.

"Galion, come here, I need you immediately!" Where was his butler when he needed him? The fool was certainly sampling the wine again, he was certain of it. Couldn't hold it, yet he loved to drink it. Disgusting. . .

The ellon hurried into the room; he had been right in the middle of ensuring that Thranduil's throne was perfectly cleaned and the cushions were laid out just as his king liked them to be. What was it now that Thranduil needed? Surely it must be urgent; a runner perhaps?

"Yes, my lord?" He bowed slightly at the waist and tried to look agreeable and patient. But that was exceedingly difficult; there was almost no reason to have any patience left where the fickleness of his king was concerned!

"Why is there no wine in my glass?" The king held his goblet up in the air as he bent his head to continue studying the charts before him. He couldn't seat Legolas beside Elladan or Elrohir, there'd be no end to their pranks and laughter. He didn't think he could bear that for the whole of the week. . .

"Perhaps you drank it, my lord?" He had no time for this! Did Thranduil honestly think he was Smaug the Mystery-Solver? He couldn't play games with the King; there were things he had to do, food he had to prepare, rooms he had to tidy and clean for the coming Feasts!

"I don't need excuses, Galion! I'm very busy, pour me another glass!" Thranduil set the goblet down on the table and pushed it away. Galion watched it glide along the smooth wood five inches, only to collide with a clear 'ping!' against the pitcher of wine. He narrowed his eyes at Thranduil's back. What was he, a servant or a slave? He worked hard, he certainly did not deserve to be treated in this fashion!

"My lord, the pitcher is practically at your elbow; I have so many _other_ duties, couldn't you pour _yourself_ a glass of wine?" His emphasis was slight on the words, but he was hoping that his King would sensitively hear them; wasn't it once told that the trees of Mirkwood could not drop a single leaf without their lords hearing of it? Surely Thranduil. . .

"Galion, I do not pay you to loiter in doorways or complain of your workload; I ask you to pour me a drink and attend to small affairs! Now, as my butler, pour me another glassful!" His voice harbored annoyance, and he momentarily looked up from his charts.

"You do not pay me at all. . ." Galion muttered under his breath, huffily stalking over to the table and refilling the goblet. He began backing out of the room, mumbling excuses, when Thranduil's hand extended, as if waiting for something to be placed in it.

"My glass."

Galion groaned dramatically, but Thranduil pretended to be ignorant, continuing to hold out his hand. Stomping back to the table, Galion thrust the goblet into his fingers and whirled back the way he had come. There was soooo much work to be done; did he have enough time? Should he even bother with it? If he did nothing, then Thranduil would see just how much he did. . .

"Galion, I do not want to hear of you slacking off again; the last time you did, thirteen dwarves escaped and one hobbit lived off my larders for much longer than I'd like to imagine."

Nodding curtly, though he knew the King wouldn't look up, Galion slammed the door behind himself. He stalked off down the hall. "What am I, servant or slave?" As he arrived at the stairs, mentally composing a list of things yet to be done, he thought he heard a muffled shouting. Was that his name? No, no it couldn't be.

" _GALION, COME HERE! WHERE DID YOU LET LEGOLAS GO_?!"

He sighed. Perhaps he shouldn't have made that information public. But he _absolutely_ _needed_ fifteen candelabras and the dwarves made them most magnificently. Besides, Legolas had not seemed to mind going.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Thanks for all the favorites, Follows and Reviews! :) They make my day! I hope this gives everyone something else to at least grin over today!**

 **WH**


	4. Fabulous

Legolas laughed, and Tauriel beside him giggled. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs to the throne room doors.

Thranduil entered, but stilled when he saw them chuckling over something that appeared to have all their attention while at the same time keep them so highly amused as to be ignorant of their surroundings.

Silently he approached from behind, wondering what they were looking at. For a moment he allowed himself a small smile at how fortunate he was that his son had inherited his mother's height. The Elvenking had no difficulty gazing over his shoulder at the object the two young Elves were enthralled with.

A phone from the Real World.

One of those flat little things that was apparently encased in smooth metal and a strange type of glass. People from the Real World seemed to adore them, and were constantly tapping the glass and changing the pictures beneath it. Thranduil kept himself as far from them as possible, highly unamused and uninterested in the strange contraptions.

However, Legolas, Tauriel, and several of the young Elves found great fascination with them, and had secret brought several home with them after a highly illegal journey to the Real World.

"And what, pray, is so amusing?" Thranduil asked, lifting a silvering eyebrow as he spoke, watching them jump in front of him with a vanishing half-smile.

"Oh, Ada! We, I, That is. . ." Legolas trailed off, and Tauriel clasped her hands in front of her, shifting her booted feet and gazing intently at the floor as if it bore the answers to the universe.

"I wish to see what on that device has captured your interest so dearly." Thranduil extended his tapered fingers, the sleeves of his midnight-blue robe swishing hollowly in the vast room.

Legolas gazed from his hand to his father's, and appeared to be warring internally with himself. Thranduil swallowed and closed his eyes for but a moment. Opening them once again, he focused his attentions and thoughts fully upon the two characters before him.

"Legolas, I _asked_ you to give it to me, but I have few qualms regarding removing it from your grasp _forcefully."_

With a large sigh from Tauriel and a grimace from Legolas, the Prince gave his father the phone.

Taking the cool, smooth thing in his hand, Thranduil tapped the glass, illuminating the pictures again. Brushing his fingertip crosswise on the screen, he managed to change the picture. He admired the way the artist had attempted to incorporate himself with several of the other Arda inhabitants, King Bard being one of the main focuses in the collection of art.

Smiling to himself as he scanned the pictures, Thranduil finally held out the phone to Legolas, who blinked twice, staring at his father. "Ada?" It was so faint that one might not have heard it, but Thranduil did, and he suspected Tauriel did too.

He brushed passed them to the stairs leading to his throne. Abruptly, he paused.

"Legolas, the words beneath that first portrait. Read them aloud, please," he requested casually, almost absently. He regarded the two Elves with a slightly tilted head, pale locks slipping over his shoulder.

"Y-you mean the caption?" Legolas glanced from the phone to his father, and Thranduil thought for a moment.

"Yes, if that is what it is called, do read it to me."

"O-of course." Legolas, for the first time, seemed to be highly embarrassed, and it made his father smile a ghost of a smile before regaining his serious composure.

"King Thranduil looks fabulous with Bard, I gotta admit." Legolas' face turned a rosy shade of pink, and Tauriel looked as if she wished to die where she stood. Thranduil merely nodded, strode back to the two, leaned down a fraction, and spoke in a low voice.

"Legolas, I look fabulous with everyone."

Abruptly he whirled and resumed his walk to the stairs.

"Did- did I hear him correctly?" Tauriel asked weakly. Legolas nodded, mute. "Your dad is so weird, Leggy." Tauriel looked over at him.

Legolas smacked a hand over his face, slowly pulling it down to his chin. "I know, _I know_. . ." he groaned miserably, the words slightly muffled by his hand.


End file.
